Category: Marvin

Life in the Express Lane

It's Friday night. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Wooo! Partayyy! Back that ass up!

I'm going to get groceries.

You know, in the old days, back when I was still trolling for men, this would be an hour or two before I'd start getting ready to go out. I'd get me some shower wine (that first glass you drink while you're showering. Was that just me?), some music going, my black tights ready cause it was the '80s. And man. You would not see me again until the wee hours of the next day.

Sometimes I miss trolling for men. I don't actually miss any of the men. I'm glad I'm married. I'm glad I'm married to Marvin Gardensalad. Things could have turned out much worse. But I miss the anticipation. Maybe this would be the night I'd meet a prince. At the Hamilton Street Pub in Saginaw, Michigan. Mmm-hmmm.

I miss all the drama. Maybe Cindy would see her old boyfriend and cry in the parking lot all night. Maybe I would make out with Cindy's old boyfriend. Life was full of mystery and sleaze.

Anyway, I have made a list of healthy grocery items that I am going to buy. They include things like yogurt and tomatoes and cheese sticks and water. Somebody hold me back.

Also tonight, after my big night out at the grocery store (what should I wear? Should I put on Obsession or Giorgio?), I am coming home and running three miles to see what my sad pace is. This will give me a starting point for training for this half-marathon. I predict the fastest I can run is 14 minutes a mile. I am not even kidding. I understand that most people could go that fast if they were asleep. Sue me. You've gotta start somewhere.

Talk at you later. After I've busted a move. To the grocery store.

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Exercise? Perhaps I Could Exercise Restraint

I got out of work at noon today, and my idea was that I’d get right on that treadmill as soon as I got home.

But of course I was STARVING when I got home, having eaten a banana and a piece of string cheese all day. Really, I need to try harder at the bringing-enough-snacks-to-work thing.

So I made a sandwich with seven thousand vegetables on it (does anyone else use hummus in place of mustard? Because I do and it’s really good) and had some vanilla yogurt and a bottle of water. So then I was ready to go on the treadmill.

But what do you know, Marvin Gardensalad came home early, because he had a dentist appointment. So then I ended up chatting with him (he has no cavities. Go, Marvin), and do you know right after that there was a huge dramatic car accident right outside our house?

Long story agonizingly longer? It’s 5:34 p.m. and I have not gotten on that dingity-dangity-gol-darn treadmill yet. Soon I will say it’s too close to bedtime to go, so as SOON as I write this, off I go. Now I have told on myself so I will be too humiliated not to go on it.

But I do have to tell you about one stupid thing I just did. Really, it’s one of those things you should never, ever do.

To begin this story, let’s look at my hair. If you are new here, you should know that no human, in the history of time, has ever had larger, coarser hair than I do. It’s unnatural. One time in biology in college we had to measure our hair under a microscope, and mine was the fattest piece in the room.

My name is June, and I have big hair. Hi, June.

Confetti_3

Okay, yes, this was taken in the ’80s, but still. I have a lot of hair. Look how my cat and I were sort of the same color and hairiness.

Now that we have established the big hair problem, here’s what I did.

I have a male, married friend who really lusts for his coworker. He and I were joking around about it today in an email. Now here’s the part you should never, ever do.

Marvin, who so wishes he wasn’t home today due to that dental appointment, who SO wishes they’d have re-extracted all four of his wisdom teeth instead of coming home early, was haplessly sitting there when I turned from the computer and said, "You can be honest, I won’t care. Is it normal for married men to lust for their coworkers?"

Marvin, who is so, so silly, said, "Yeah, of course."

"Have YOU ever lusted for anyone at work?"

"I don’t know."

I don’t know. If there was ever a ridiculous answer to give.

I don’t know. 

Of COURSE this means there was someone at work he lusted for! Of COURSE there are seven thousand questions I had to ask!

After tormenting him for twenty minutes, I have found out there was an attractive saleswoman at his old job. After sticking pins in him and cutting off his airways for just a few minutes, I also found out…

SHE HAS SILKY, STRAIGHT HAIR.

This was the worst blow possible. I wouldn’t have cared had she had a smokin’ body. Or if she was 20 years younger than me. I mean, of course she had these things. But silky hair? Oh, the deceitfulness.

So now I am pouting, following Marvin around, who is just trying to go on with his life and hoping to find a way to turn back tiiiioome, as Cher would say, so that we had never had this conversation.

I am just saying. You should never, ever ask this question. When I said I wouldn’t care, I actually thought I wouldn’t. It was the silky hair that got me.

Can you exercise your way to thinner hair?

I Can’t Believe it’s Yoga

Namaste.

I just did my yoga DVD. Can you tell? "Namaste" is some yoga word, which roughly translates to "How’s it hangin’?"

We had free yoga at noon at my old workplace in LA and I loved it. Really, the more I talk about my old job in LA, the more I wonder why on earth I agreed to pick up and leave that place.

But I just did yoga. No negativity. I am at one with the world. Really, I am at about 27 with the world. But I’ll do more yoga and work on it.

I forgot that cats love it when you work out on the floor. I have no idea why, but every cat I’ve had gets excited about this. Maybe they think you are trying to become a feline, what with the being on all fours and mewling and such.

However, today I was trying to relax into child’s pose, which basically means you are kneeling face-down on the floor. My cat Ruby, who has asthma, decided this was an excellent time to chew my hair. Which for some reason is a way she shows she loves me. Perhaps she is trying to chew it off in hopes of giving me less hair, which would be nice.

Anyway, I was trying to breathe and relax and be zen and such, and there was asthmatic Ruby in my hair.

"SNURKLE! SNURF! SCHNERK SCHNERK SCHNERK [chew chew chew chew chew] SSHNURK! sneeze!"

Finally, toward the end of the DVD, Marvin Gardensalad came in with a plate of spaghetti. He sat at the end of the couch, four inches from me. "Are you watching Gurpmaloni?" he asked me. Once I copied a meditation CD from a friend, and instead of writing the real name of the meditation instructor on the CD, Marvin wrote "Gurpmaloni Changetremeshu," which I thought was actually her name until I mentioned it to my friend and she went into hysterics.

I was nearing the end of the workout, and we went into Corpse Pose, which many say is the hardest pose to master. You lie on your back, hands at your side, and completely relax. You don’t move. It’s harder than it sounds.

"You look actually dead," Marvin said between spaghetti consumption. "Now I’m picturing you actually dead and I’m getting upset."

So all in all, it was a pretty relaxing evening of stretches, poses, breathing, spaghetti and schnarkling. Namaste.

The Storm that ROCKED North Carolina

You guys. Seriously. They are predicting (don't get scared) one to maybe even TWO inches of snow tomorrow! Woah. Laura Ingalls Wilder and her long winter got nothing on this. They are calling it a winter storm warning. An INCH of snow, folks.

The news is saying they have their backup generators ready. The stores are emptying of milk and bread. They are going to BREAK IN every HALF HOUR after midnight to keep us abreast of this squall.

Okay, yes, I moved here from California, but I grew up in Michigan. One to two inches? That's a nice day in April!

One to two inches. I had no idea Southerners were such drama queens.

On a related note, however, our treadmill is in the back, in the unheated room that houses our washer and dryer. You can see your breath in there. There ain't no way I am running on that thing tonight. I understand that I am wimpy.

But, brrr!

Also? I am afraid I may have made some Almond Joy bars, which came in a mix I bought to supposedly make at Christmastime. Somehow I forgot, as I was busy panicking and breaking into rashes all Christmas, and today there was that mix, staring longingly at me in the shelf. We had baked potatoes and broccoli for dinner, and then I am sorry to tell you we had Almond Joy bars for dessert.

Marvin would take a bite, say, "Holy shit, this is good," then take another bite. I am not talking about during the potato/broccoli portion of our evening.

And finally, in conclusion, in closing, to wrap things up. In a nutshell. Don't you hate it when people say "in a nutshell"? Lastly, will you guys PLEASE stop being afraid that I'll proof your comments? I write write write my small cold heart out, and then do I get comments? No. And I KNOW people are reading me, because my sitemeter spies on you. But so many people have said they fear my proofing them that I am thinking it's a worldwide phenomenon.

Cut it out. No one is paying me to proof your comments, so I am not proofing. Every time you feel intimidated by my stupid job, just remember, I thought it was, "Chug-a-lug, it's driving me mad, it's making me crazy" instead of "Jungle love, it's driving me mad…"

I am not that smart, really.

Love,                                                                                                                                                                                        June

California Rolls on my Waistline

Marvin Gardensalad and I just saw two deer right down the street from us! Oh! They were so pretty. I rolled down the window and said hello and told them I loved them very much. They seemed indifferent to my affections.

Now I am worried that they are cold. Marvin said I could knit them some deerwarmers.

Who delights in his every utterance? Is it Marvin?

Anyway, Big Storm 2008 hit us, with about a fourth of an inch of snow. You can still see the grass. Nevertheless, Marvin’s school was delayed two hours. Yeesch.

Speaking of a fourth of an inch, you know that yoga DVD I’ve been doing? The woman leading the thing is from Australia, and she keeps telling me to stand with my legs a meter apart.

Okay, I am in America. Couldn’t they have dubbed in a normal measurement? Isn’t a meter like a mile? I seriously have no idea. I just stand with my feet apart and hope for the best. Stupid foreign measurements. Hey, I have two Australian readers! Clear it up for me, will you? And don’t make fun of me that I do not know your foreign Australian ways, with your didgeridoos and your boomerangs and such.

Oh, and thanks, everyone, for commenting yesterday! Aren’t you all nice. Now I need you to comment again. Does anyone have any good healthy dinner suggestions? I am having a bagel or a banana for breakfast, I have a can of plain almonds at work, I have a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato for lunch, usually, and carrots and hummus as a snack, but girlfriend is hurting for interesting dinner ideas.

Today we went out to eat at one of the three restaurants that aren’t fast food in this town. Well, there’s a fourth restaurant, but it’s Chinese buffet food, and you could not pay me to go to that bacteria fest. Anyway, we went to a Mexican restaurant and got California burritos, which were on special tonight. Livin’ large. A California burrito has redwood trees, smog and Crips in it. Delish.

So, please advise. Something healthy that does not involve shrimp, cilantro or grapefruit.

Let’s see how long it takes some wise guy to bring out his shrimp cilantro salad with grapefruit pieces recipe.

Chocolate by Death

Once summer, my mother and I were at a fair. There was some sort of fund raiser — I forget now what cause it was — and for ten dollars you could hold a baby lion or tiger, and have your picture taken with it.

I wanted to go so bad, and my mother said no, no, it's getting hot, let's not wait in line. I said please, please let me go.

"If I can hold a baby lion, I'll never be sad again," I told her.

Now, here is the part where I was gonna scan in the photo of me holding the baby lion, because what's funny about this story is that I was 38 at the time, and I know it sounds like I was, you know, four. But do you think I can find that DING and also DANG picture? When I packed up to move here, I put the picture in a book. I said to myself (and don't you hate people who say, "I said to myself, 'Self…' " Okay, stop. Stop now.), I said, this is a good idea. The picture won't get crinkled, and I will find it some day when I am rereading this book.

I just spent the last hour, opening every book in this entire house. I have dust up my nose holes, and my legs hurt from squatting. I cannot find that picture ANYWHERE! I did discover that we own a copy of Look Homeward Angel, though, which I have always wanted to read, particularly now that I am in North Carolina.

This is turning into the longest story ever.

My POINT is that holding that baby lion was the happiest moment of my whole life. I know that is a terrible thing to tell you. I should say it was the day I met Marvin Gardens, or the day I got my diploma or the day I got lipo. But no. Really? My wedding day was a wonderful day*, and it's for sure my best day, but as for moments? Holding the baby lion was really it.

I have, however, been sad since then, and my mother has to point out all the time that I promised her if we stood in that hot line to hold that baby lion, I'd never be sad again. Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a tad. Has my mother ever met me? Geez.

Today, before I exhausted myself looking for that picture, I got home from my pressing four-hour workday, and I got out of my car and went straight to the mailbox, and I am delighted to tell you that NetFlix sent me not one but TWO DVDs of Six Feet Under, with which I am obsessed. It was all I could do not to squeal.

Just then, a red truck pulled into my driveway, and one of the parishioners at church brought me an enormous piece of dark chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting that his wife had just made. She made him take me over a piece. Wives are wonderful people.

So, I am sorry to report that I had ANOTHER unhealthy eating moment today, which I know isn't very inspirational of me. I promise I will do better tomorrow and I am going to run today right after Miss Lilly time.

But really? Between you, me and all the other people reading this? Sitting there, eating my dark chocolate cake and watching Six Feet Under? Two things I did not know I would be doing when the day began?

Right up there with baby lion day.

*(Perhaps had Marvin actually looked at me when I walked down the aisle on our wedding day, that might have been a nice moment. But seeing as I looked at the back of his HEAD all the way down, no.) (Oh, he is gonna be so happy I brought this up. This is like how every time I meet one of my father's friends, I waste no time telling them how he cut off all my hair when I was two and had my cat put down when I was six.)

Half Time

So, my book came today. It is a book on running a half-marathon, which by the way I bought on Amazon through dcrmom's blog.

Apparently, if you go to her blog and click the Amazon ad, she gets money for it. It was no skin off my nose, which is a really disgusting phrase, to go to her site to get to Amazon as opposed to going straight to Amazon. In fact, why don't you all save your noses and order your Amazon goods through her site? Let's turn her into a millionaire, simply because it might be fun to watch. What say you?

So, the person who wrote my half marathon book is Jeff Galloway, an Olympic marathoner (me, too) who also wrote the book on running full marathons that I read back in 2000, when I was young and nubile.

When Marvin Gardensalad saw that I bought this book, he said, "Why don't you just read half of your marathon book instead?"

Really, the hilarity. How do I get through the day without stitching up my sides, with that jokester over here?

My plan is to sit around all weekend reading it, which kind of defeats the purpose of training for a half-marathon, so maybe I'll throw some physical activity in there.

I ran on the treadmill again yesterday, and one wonders why I am so dinglity danglity slow. Perhaps I should set up a screen behind me with images of a man chasing me with a knife, or a lion charging me or something.

One time, someone told me this hideous story, and I can't remember who told it to me, but if you are home alone, do not read the next paragraph.

Whoever this woman was, she was home alone in a big house — she may have been house sitting, in fact — and she was upstairs in bed, and in the middle of the night she heard a music box downstairs! Which meant someone was down there and had opened it! Doesn't that just give you chilblains? Isn't that awful? Now, what I would do in that situation is completely freeze, giving the bad person ample time to get upstairs and find me and chop me into mince meat pie. The friend, I recall, called the police and all was well.

Who TOLD me that story? Is it any of my old friends reading this? Because apparently I was so traumatized I blanked who you were. I hope the reason I know this story is not because the friend called ME for help and I am just coming back to reality right now. Which could totally be the case, because, folks, you do NOT want me in an emergency situation. I will get breathless and flap my hands. I will turn into Aunt PittyPat. Do not get ill or die on my watch, please.

Finally, I just figured out that this weekend is the Super Bowl, isn't it? That is why my Google homepage is giving recipes for potato skins, which sounds delicious, and also why every commercial is for large-screen TVs.

I couldn't be more indifferent to sports. Honestly, if you told me Joe Namath was playing, I would totally believe you. It'll be hard to tear myself away from my half-marathon book to watch that game. Wooo! Go, whoever!

Waffling

I'm sitting here in my pink turtleneck and my dark blue sweatpants, which is a delightful combination and I don't look at all like I should be talking to myself and gesturing wildly while I push my shopping cart filled with old baby shoes and cat litter or anything.

While changing clothes for my run, I remembered I hadn't blogged all day, so it seemed like writing in my health blog was a great excuse to put off running.

I have been keeping up with my Weight Watchers really well. Of course, we are on day two, so let's not give me the Weight Watcher Purple Heart or whatever just yet.

Last night, I had a craving for blueberry waffles, and I had points left, so I made some. Marvin Gardensalad decided that blueberry waffles sounded good at 9 p.m., as well, so he started making some, too. I had my waffles all ready, and as I turned toward the living room, and they FLEW off my plate and right onto Marvin's pajamas. The maple syrup sort of froze them in place.

He was pleased.

I am happy to say that he gave me HIS waffles, as he was suddenly out of the mood for them. They were delish. His pajamas thought so, too.

If I hadn't been eating well all day, I would never in a million years have craved blueberry waffles, by the way. It's just not a food I think of.

That is about all I can tell you, except that I had a delightful time today having tea with one of the women in town. I went over there because her husband accidentally got a letter addressed to him at the church. In fact, it referred to him as "reverend," which was news to both of us. Anyway, it was a gray, rainy day here, and when I brought over the letter, she opened the door to her 1920s Craftsman home, and a fire was burning, and there was dark wood everywhere, and a grandfather clock was chiming and oh! you could just curl up there all day.

She made me some really good ginger peach tea, and we had such a good talk. Turns out we both have always wished to go to Mardi Gras and also to Times Square on New Year's Eve.

When I was in college, all my roommates decided at the last minute to get in the car and drive to New Orleans to go to Mardi Gras. I didn't go because I had a QUIZ. A quiz. Is that the saddest thing ever? Not going to Mardi Gras with my housemates is my biggest regret in life. And you know Mardi Gras at 21 would have been way more fun than Mardi Gras at 42.

We talked about how everyone always tells you you really DON'T want to be in Times Square at New Year's, and the same with Mardi Gras, but neither of us think that is true.

She does not, however, share my lifelong dream to have been a go-go dancer in the '60s. I do not know why not.

So I had a good time with "the reverend's" wife. We are still waiting for him to tell us when he snuck in that divinity school.

Okay, I have told you my life story. I guess I have no choice but to run now.

Episcopalians Gone Wild

Last night, Marvin and I went to a Mardi Gras party given by a member of the church where I am a secretary. It is the first party we have been to in exactly six months — the last one we attended was our going-away party in Los Angeles.

It was so much fun! Who knew your church members could throw down? Everyone came in costume, and there were beads and masks everywhere, and people drank and laughed and told funny stories.

I didn't know that in the South, you actually show up at the party on time. For those of you on the West Coast, you will understand when I tell you the party started at 5:30, so naturally we showed up at 6:45. Yeah. Everyone was there and they'd gotten way into the pork loin already. Fortunately there was enough for us, still.

I did not overindulge and blow my Weight Watchers, in case anyone was worried sick. I had one tiny medallion of pork, and these balls of cheese, spinach and some bread product that I'm certain Gwynneth Paltrow wouldn't be caught dead eating, but man, was it good. Oh, and one chocolate truffle. I recorded it all. The truffle was one point.

And by the way, did you know Weight Watchers counts sex as one activity point?

Also, I had my first experience of small-town, everyone-knows-your-bidness sort of a thing.

Last week, a pharmaceutical company in Raleigh called me, wanting to interview me for a proofreader position. If I got the job, it'd mean I'd move to Raleigh now and Marvin would come along after the school year. The interview was scheduled for Thursday, so I told the rector, my boss, that I would come in on Friday this week instead of Thursday. "Okay!" he said, "What fun thing are you gonna do on Thursday?"

Okay, I am not going to lie to a man of the cloth. I mean, I am not that religious, but come on. You are going to the bowels of hell's hinges for lying to a priest. So I told him.

Well.

If you think everyone at that party didn't ask me about the interview (I didn't even go! I canceled it because it was a contract position, and I thought why am I moving away for a job with no benefits?), and tell me I simply had to stay in Tiny-Town, and that if I needed gay men friends, they all knew of some and they'd hook me up.

I do not even know how they knew I missed gay men. I guess someone read my blog.

Anyway, I really do heart these people. They are great. Not one person here consults a pet psychic, or has told me what they are in therapy for, or has an agent. It is refreshing and delightful and if we do move away this year, I will be remain friends with some of these folks forever.

Oh, and also? I keep forgetting to tell y'all I cut off ALL MY HAIR and it is really, seriously short and it looks cute as hell and everyone told me so last night and I simply must get a photo up for you. Currently I am in my green robe with the pink ball tassels and a green towel on my head, so a photo right now would not be pretty.

A Doggie Miracle

Well, you are not even gonna believe this. I have been feeling like crap, absolute crap, about Meadow. The other night I woke Marvin Gardensalad up at like 3 a.m. I was sobbing. I said, "Can you reach around me and put your hand on my heart? It just hurts so much."

So he did, because he is a nice husband. Then, two seconds later, he tried to feel me up.

Now, folks, seriously. Why can't men learn that there is a TIME and a PLACE for these sorts of activities?

At any rate, in the midst of all my sadness, I talked to my Aunt Kathy, who said, "You know what you need to do? You need to put it out there in the universe, in present tense, that Meadow has been adopted by a loving family. Just say it out loud and get it out there."

I know I am totally making it sound like my Aunt Kathy smokes the ganja and lives in a commune in Topanga Canyon, but actually she is a middle-aged woman in Vermont. But she did just read The Secret.

So, yesterday I did it. Meadow_16I said out loud, as I sobbed, "Thank you for giving Meadow a good home, with a fenced-in yard, to a loving family who will really care for her."

Today I got an email from one of my faithful readers, Sid Leavitt, who has a readers and writers blog, and who once gave me a nice writeup about my own personal self and my blog. He was particularly taken with how I say classy things like "my own personal self."

Well, GUESS WHAT? He and his wife were willing to drive FIVE HUNDRED MILES to come adopt Meadow. They live in a house, with a fenced-in yard. They had a dog who looked something like Meadow, and she died a while back, and they were really devastated about it. When they saw Meadow's picture the other day, they were smitten. (And could you ignore that piece of black Ruby fur to Meadow's left, there, in the photo? Thanks. Her asthma makes her shed like the Dickens. What does that phrase MEAN?)

So, I called the Humane Society, and if no one adopts her before next weekend,  Marvin and I are going to pick her up, and we are driving halfway to meet Sid Leavitt and his wife!

Meadow will have it made; Sid is retired and his wife is going to retire soon, too. So someone will always be there to love her, and walk her and watch her run around the yard and see if her other ear ever gets straight.

I don't know about you, but I am grinning like a possum eatin' poo off a hairbrush. I just learned that phrase today.

In which I totally tell you the end of Six Feet Under in the first paragraph

Today was a ridiculous day. First of all, I had a dream that Marvin Gardensalad was having an affair. I know I dreamed this because stupid Nate on Six Feet Under just had an affair and then he fell over dead from a brain hemorrhage, and I am really sorry if you are just catching up on your Six Feet Under like I am. I know I just ruined the whole show for you.

The POINT is, I woke up at 5:00 when Amish Marvin's alarm goes off, and I told him about my dream, and how in the dream I kept hitting him and screaming and he TOTALLY DIDN'T CARE that he'd been caught in his tryst. Isn't that the worst, when in a dream you are really mad and the other person doesn't care?

So, Marvin asked me how I had found out about the affair. I said, "I read a bunch of emails you had printed out."

Marvin came over to the bed and said, "Honey. I would NEVER print out the emails."

Okay, that was reassuring. Again, do we all agree he needs to work at a crisis hotline?

My bad dream screwed up my sleep, and I ended up waking up with only 35 minutes till work.

I usually have Fridays off, but since I went to Winston-Salem on Wednesday, I went to work today to make up for it.

Since I had to get out of here in a hurry, I threw a Garden Burger in the microwave, and do you know it kept me full for hours?

Anyway, at work I started printing the 9,876 bulletins for Sunday's service, and the copy machine jammed. The copy machine jams 97 times in a row whenever I start to print out the bulletin, and oh, how I wish you could be there to hear the litany of swear words I come up with. It is truly a thing of beauty and especially nice to be doing in a church.

However, today the stupid machine seemed to be jamming up more than usual, and when I opened it, a giant COIL just SPROINGED out and onto the floor.

You can imagine my deep pleasure, not to mention my pretty vocabulary. So, when I tried to fix the thing, a MATCHING coil SPROINGED out on the other side of the wizzywig I was trying to fix.

So, I called the repair company, and their poor repair guy was already going to three cities that day, and I told him I'd wait for him.

He wasn't able to show up until 3:45, and normally I leave work at noon. So, to keep myself occupied, I got out a big mailing I wasn't going to get out until next week.

By the time I got home, I was FAMISHED, and I had some pasta and sun-dried tomatoes and I was happy as a lark again. But as soon as I finished that, I had to DASH back to Miss Lillie's nursing home, as I told her I'd come an extra day this week, due to her bad, cheeseless pasta week.

When I got there, were they in the middle of Hawaii hour? Everybody was in the activities room, wearing leis and straw hats, and the next thing you know, I am sporting a grass skirt, a LOVELY pink lei, and I'm hula dancing with everybody else. To be really authentic, Hawaiian Punch was served. I am proud to tell you I did not have any, even though I adore Hawaiian Punch. When I left Miss Lillie, girlfriend was on about her fifth cup. Glad she's not driving tonight.

So that is my stupid day. I have to get back on the treadmill again tonight. And yes, I have a clean brassiere. I hope when I am done I do not eat anything stupid, as today has been a relatively good food day.

Exciting things that’ve happened today

I am supposed to be proofreading something — what else is new?– but so MANY exciting things have happened.

Okay, first of all, I have another job interview, this one in Raleigh. The interview is Wednesday. I would be a proofreader/office manager for a graphic design firm. Their website is really cool, and they have little profiles of each person who works there, and the profiles include what their pets' names are. So you know I'd fit in.

June GonnaEatThat is proud mother to the quite hairy Ruby DeLuna, Francis Carport and Winston Tripper, ages 12, 11 and 3, respectively. June wants many, many, many more cats, but her mean spouse said the next cat who comes in the door might as well be named Divorced White Female. Click here to contact June.

I don't mind being an office manager along with being proofreader. To tell you the truth, it'd kind of be like taking the two jobs I currently have and combining them and giving me benefits. And there probably aren't church bulletins to mess up at a graphic design firm.

I should really get all my work done tonight so I can shop for something spiffy to wear to the interview. Plus also too, Sally Hershberger has come out with a new line of haircare products, and it is imperative that I try them. I can write a review of said products on Chic Critique. (My pal The Nester wrote a guest review on Chic Critique today. There is a picture of Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies included in said critique. And let's talk about how I forgot that Granny made moonshine, and had those jugs with the three Xs on them. What do those three Xs mean?)

And speaking of my pets, which I was four paragraphs ago, today I had to take Ruby to the vet. A few months back, she got diagnosed with asthma, and who feels bad that she took her cat, who lived in the city with the dirtiest air on the planet, and moved her out to the country so she could get asthma?

So, we had our checkup today, and Ruby is doing really well. But the point of my story is that I met (a) the vet's two bulldogs, and I happen to think bulldogs are just the most ridiculously Lou Grant looking cute things on earth, and (4) they also let me hold a baby baby baby puppy who was recuperating in an INCUBATOR, because she is so tiny. The puppy needs a home. Let's not go there together again, shall we? There was also a 10-month-old jumpy dog who needed a home, and again, let's not do this to ourselves unless we all agree it's okay to put Starvin' Marvin Gardensalad to sleep first.

And speaking of rubies, there is a woman in town whose name is also Ruby, and I have invited her over for tea this Saturday and I am so excited I could spit. Does anyone have something-that-would-go-nicely-with-tea recipes?

I wonder if Ruby will like Ruby, and vice versa?

Finally, Marvin and I are going to be famous. The paper is writing a story on the band Marvin joined, and the media — which is really a woman I know from Garden Club but technically she IS the media — has called us twice to get our story straight. I told her the Marvin-worked-with-Michael-Jackson thing that people always like, and she put that in the story. So we will be world-renowned. Or at least known by the seven people left in the county who don't already know us.

Oh. There is another finally. Finally part deux, did you SEE that there is a SPECIAL on the ROYAL FAMILY this weekend? Or maybe next Monday. Perhaps I had better confirm this. At any rate, there will be no mystery what I will be doing. Oh! I am excited. I plan to buy eggs to throw at the screen whenever they show Camilla Parker Bowels. Diana rocks! Team Diana!

Express & Post & Intelligencer & Times & News & Chronicle

Marvin Gardensalad is famous! They wrote an article in the paper here, which I am not even kidding you when I tell you it's called the Express & Post & Intelligencer. The whole paper is four pages long, and the first page is just them trying to print the paper's name.

Anyway, they wrote an article about Marvin's band here in our town, so they did a little profile of each band member. Marvin is such a celeb. Now he will have groupies when they play at the 50 and Over Club next week.

He is taking the DAY OFF to play the 50 and Over Club, as they are playing at 10:30 a.m. on a Monday. I do not know if I am allowed to go see him play, as I am 40 and over. I would be really insulted if I went and they did not card me.

In other news, my father has sent me the two Dog Whisperer books, and he also signed us up for cable, as he does not understand why people even want to wake up in the morning if they do not have cable to see. And I was getting so into my all-Andy Griffith, all-the-time station.

We are even getting HBO! I see no reason to leave the house ever again.

I ran 3.5 miles last night in a blistering 50 minutes and 48 seconds. You could barely SEE me, I went so fast.

Actually, 50 minutes and 48 seconds is pretty fast for me, as AGAIN, one is supposed to train for marathons at a very slow pace.

Do you know how to sleep really well? Run three and a half miles a few hours before bed. I do not remember my head hitting the pillow, and I heard nothing until the alarm went off at 7:00.

In other OTHER news, that major bank liked me and they want to interview with me in April. I decided to go ahead and say yes to the interview for now. But NO MORE INTERVIEWS between now and then. I'll probably end up canceling that one, anyway. I mean, I don't think we're gonna move to Charlotte; we'll probably go somewhere mountain-y or coast-y. Does anyone have any good North Carolina cities to recommend? Something with character.

Finally, I wanted to thank everyone for their dog suggestions as of late. I did the crate because of you guys, I got a Kong because of you, I put my hand in her bowl so she knows I'm in charge (hah!), I gave her treats to housebreak her, and so on. I would have been lost without all y'all! Wouldn't "all y'all" be redundant?

Lula has gained three pounds in one week! Which is good, I guess, since she was underweight. Now she is roly-poly and living to knock Winston over. She knows not to attempt this with the other cats, as they do not see the humor in having a puppy. What.so.ever.

Pink, pebbles and I’m a bad wife

I SO was not in the mood to run four miles today. I am still not sleeping very well, as Tallulah gets up with Marvin and she starts click click clicking around the house and it wakes me up.

Plus, I did everything wrong yesterday. I forgot to drink lots of water, and I ate Chinese food for dinner. Hello. Why didn't I just lick a salt block?

Even though I was practically Lot's Wife, I hauled my arse to the high school track. Marvin told me he'd go with me, which was kind of exciting. I pointed out to him that he hadn't, you know, run in a really long time, and he was gonna have to run four miles from no training and he said, whatever. I can do it.

So we set off. Marvin was on an "I'm funny" roll, and he was making me giggle. He was saying stupid things, and running in my lane, and oh! Let me tell you about the pebbles.

The track is a quarter mile around. So, instead of trying to keep track of how many times I ran around, I put 16 pebbles in my pocket. Marvin said, "When we go around each time, you can give one to me. Then when I have them all, we'll know we're done." I thought he was kidding.

When we came around the track the first time, I threw away a pebble. Marvin was incredulous. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?" he said. "We'll NEVER find that pebble!"

Okay. I have no idea what was going on in Marvin's head. I said calmly, as though I were speaking to Forrest Gump, "Honey, when I have run around this thing 16 times, I will have no more pebbles in my pocket. See?"

Poor Marvin. Somehow he thought we had to keep track of the pebbles.

Anyway, we chugged along, and as time went on and my blood sugar started to plummet? Guess who started IRK.ING. MEEEEEEEEEEE. He kept wanting me to cheat and throw two pebbles out. And every three minutes or so he would CHUFF. CHUFF. "WHooooooooooooooooooooooooo," he would go. For some reason, the chuffing started to make me feel nauseated. Then I got nauseated ANTIcipating the chuff. My whole run I was thinking, "pleasedon'tchuffpleasedon'tchuffplease…"

Have I mentioned I am an only child?

I am sorry to tell you that I was gleeful at mile three, when Marvin had had enough and went to sit in the stands. I know that makes me a bad wife. But I just wanted to me alone, with my head, and my lack of chuff.

Way back when I was still liking Marvin, we had made a deal that when we got home from running, he would take care of dinner and I would walk Lula. Who felt like she was walking through concrete, like Wile E. Coyote, when she got home? The LAST thing I wanted to do was walk that dog. I mean, the second-to-last thing other than find something for us to eat.

What cracked me up was Lula was dead asleep in her crate when we got home and she could not have been less enthused about walking, either. But we are on a schedule, and we walk at 5:00, and it was 5:00 straight up. Her little body said it was 4:00, though, and when I opened that crate, she was all, "You have got to be joking."

You should have seen the listless duo we made walking up the street. She kept yawning and making that squeak sound dogs make at the end of a yawn. I still had the Wile E. Coyote thing going. We lasted 15 minutes.

Anyway, I sat down to blog you all and for no reason, this disc was here on the desk and I put it in and now I am all homesick. It was pictures from my 39th birthday, when I threw a surprise party for myself. You can click on the pictures if you wanna see them better, but why would you?

Surprise_3

Here I am walking into my apartment, which I had walked out of two seconds before. I made everyone yell "SURPRISE!"

This is the second surprise party I have thrown myself. I even wrote, "Don't tell me; it's a surprise!" on the invites. Really, how very much do you dislike me?

Cake

The party was a pink theme, did you notice? My friend Renee made the cake. I love love love love loved that apartment. It was a duplex, built in the '40s. It was huge and had tons of character. We lived there for years.

Friends

I did not ask anybody if it was okay that I put their picture on my blog. I miss my friends so much. Hey, Dan, Dave, Melanie's dog, Melanie, Renee with a balloon head and Rhetta! Is it okay if I put your picture up on my blog? If not, I'll move away from that cool apartment and into a really, really small town and never see any of you again.

Sigh.

Over the hump

Shhh. Don't make any sudden sounds. As of this minute, for the first time ever, all my pets are in one room, sleeping.

Ruby and nutty Francis are on the bed, Winston is on the pink chair and Lula is on the floor, doing the "I'm gonna sleep now" sighing thing dogs do.

I guess to say that Francis is "sleeping" is kind of stretching it a bit. Rather, he is sitting sort of irkedly, staring that that enemy dog with big saucer eyes. Hang on. I'll take a photo.

Saucer

I'm hate dog.

Anyway. It is an exciting milestone, and I'm glad you could all be here to enjoy it.

Tallulah and I went visiting today. I adore the women who go to our church. I really do. Some days no one comes in at all, and some days you'll get six or seven women in one day. I particularly like it when they all congregate in the room next to me, which is the parish hall. Sometimes I just sit in my office and shut my eyes and listen to their accents. Southern voices are so pretty.

One of the women, who I will cleverly refer to as "R," told me to come on over today when I was giving Lula her walk. So we parked way far away and took a big stroll over to R's, in the hopes that she would poop before we got there. The dog. Not R.

Marvin and I have noticed that the only thing he and I talk about anymore is our dog's bodily functions. I guess this is why people grow apart when they have kids. And now here I am telling YOU, the blog audience, about Lula's functions as well. I hope you all don't divorce me.

At any rate, Lula was very well-behaved on our visit and just as we were leaving, "B" drove by (another church woman. It is a shame none of these women were given anything but initials at birth) and said, bring that lovely dog over to my house. So I did.

Well. B has a terrier, and God may love a terrier, but Lula did not. The terrier is adorable, and he tried to hump Lula, and between you and me, I don't see why she didn't go for it. Seriously, he is cute. But Lula was appalled. So B invited us in to escape old Humpy outside, and I am sorry to tell you that Lula immediately went to that amorous dog's dish and ate all his food. Then she sat on my lap and licked the breakfast table.

As we were leaving, B gave us a baggie of her terrier's food, seeing as Lula liked it so much, and also this enormous hippo toy that her dog eschewed. It was kind of like when you'd go to visit your grandmother; you always left with a ton of stuff.

Do you know Lula inSISted on carrying that huge hippo in all the way back to the car? It was not a short walk, and I assure you she could not see in front of her, but she wouldn't give it up. When we got home, she grabbed it again and dragged that hippo thru the dirt to the front door. She loves that dang thing.

Then? When she got inside? She humped Winston. Just like she had been humped. So Lula learned something new today.

Oh look! Now Marvin is home and everyone on earth is in this one room.

Daddy

Hump me again and you'll be missing a few parts. Dog.

Seven really boring facts about me

Three a.m. designs, which is not how the blog is spelled but I couldn't stand to begin a sentence with a number, has tagged me to write seven random facts about myself. But really, how random can they be? I have to sit here and think 'em up first.

1. Today, just as I came home from work, I sneezed and peed myself a little. This is a sign to me that I am getting really, pathetically old. I am 42 years, seven months and 25 days old. I changed my clothes, by the way.

Ruby

2. This is my cat, Ruby DeLuna. She is the eldest of my four pets. Well, five pets. We have a fish who lives in our blender, named Smoothie. Ruby is 11 years, eight months and 11 days old. Ooo! In a few days she'll be 11, 11, 11! Anyway. I got her when she was a kitten.

Rubykit_2 

Here she is, being a kitten, sitting near the dog's dish. We lived with a Sheltie then, which could be why she is relatively okay with our puppy now. She has lived with me in three different states. She knew me when I was a single, slutty gal. Okay, I had one boyfriend, and then Marvin Gardensalad, during her lifetime. Woo! What a Jezebel.

3. Marvin Gardensalad and I dated in college for three hideous months. They were hideous because I liked him about 75,000 times more than he liked me. We broke up. For 10 years.

Rd

Here is what he looked like when I met him in 1985. Oh, I adored him. And his indifferent self. That phone is probably ringing during the picture. I am calling again.

We kept in touch, for no apparent reason. I have generally stayed in touch with all my ex-boyfriends, though.

Anyway, he came to visit me in Seattle and we hadn't seen each other at all in that 10 years. Four months later, I moved to LA to live with him. A year and a half after that, we got married.

Married

Nice acrylic nails.

4. Supposedly, my great-great grandfather was the first person to walk over Niagara Falls on a tightrope. He is mentioned on a Trivial Pursuit card. The "supposedly" part is the part where I am not convinced this guy was actually a relative. It could just be my family trying to get above our raisin.

5. I have no spleen. It was removed during a bad accident I was in at age 12. I do not miss it. But I have to get shots so I don't get pneumonia.

6. When I was a kid, I used to model for my father's company. He was a photographer. I was the national [insert really famous flower company name here] flower girl when I was five or six. Then, two years ago, I worked for a competing flower company. But not as a model.

They used me as a model because believe it or not, I was really quiet and shy, so they could sit me under hot lights for hours and make me do horrid things like make me drink milk and I would not act up.

7. Marvin Gardensalad and I collect pictures of people we don't know. Below is a picture of a couple who started our obsession. Tons of their photo albums were for sale at a junk store, so we bought them, then set to work learning all about these people. We found where they were buried, and used to visit their grave on Mother's Day and the like.

We now own a ton of other albums and loose photos of strangers, and we also have framed photos up of strangers, too. So when people come over they always have to say, "Now, is that your grandmother or a stranger?"

Anyway, due to this strange hobby, a guy is making a documentary film about us. He has filmed us a bunch of times. I have no idea when the movie will be done.

Nv

Okay, so I am supposed to tag seven people, but I will let you pick yourselves. Tell me seven things about you either in my comments or on your own blogs. But let me know you did so and direct me to your blog. Take me to your leader.

The Bell of the Church

Today was the best of times and the worst of times at my church secretary job.

First of all, I dropped a hymnal on my foot. Now, if that isn't the most church secretary-y thing to do, I don't know what is. That thing landed on its point right up at the top of my foot, and of course I was wearing ballet flats so my entire foot was exposed, as opposed to all those days I am wearing my Doc Martins or my shoes made of molybdenum or whatever.

Oh, did it hurt. And today being Holy Tuesday, we were having a noon service at the church with a luncheon after. All the church women were already there, scurrying around the kitchen. Which actually gave me a golden opportunity to limp in there dramatically and ask for ice.

The church women felt so bad for me that I got to eat a macaroon right then and there.

So that sucked. The hymnal on my foot, I mean. The macaroon part was pretty ding-dang good.

After that, though, the men who were gonna be ushers today came in and said, "Is that all the bulletins there are?" You can imagine how I liked to hear this 45 minutes before a service. So I rushed out 50 more copies and when I took them to the entryway, I looked up and I said to the men, "Some day I am gonna ring that bell up there."

In the entryway of the church, over in one corner, is a huge piece of rope that goes temptingly up into the ceiling. Do you have any idea how bad I want to pull that thing each and every time I go in that little room?

Well, today was my day. Mr. G., the usher, said, "Pull it today, then!"

You would have thought I was suddenly asked to play they lead in "Cats" on Broadway or something, the way I panicked. (I do not know from the theater. I know "Cats" is the '80s-ist example ever. I have made up two words today: secretary-y and '80s-ist.) "What do I DO?" I flustered. "How many times do I ring it? How do I know when it's time?"

Mr. G., who has probably rung that bell every month of his life, thought I was fairly ridiculous, I could tell, but he showed me what to do. Then I ran/hobbled to the kitchen to tell all the church women I would ring the bell today, and as they were trying to get out enough quiche to serve 110 people, they probably all wanted to ring my bell.

When the time came, Mr. G. wouldn't let me hobble down the aisle doing a Quasimodo impression first (oh yes I did ask), but when I pulled that rope? MAN! Is that hard to pull! How does anyone DO it? I actually have rope burns, and I think it rang so quietly no one heard me. But it was fun anyway. Scratched that itch, as it were.

Other than church, I do have to tell you that I had to run to Marvin's school this morning, as he forgot something and I had to bring it. When I entered the classroom, one of the kids said, "I thought your wife was that other woman who visits you."

Okay, what?

Then the kid said, "That one woman. With the long, red hair."

Oh. Right. That'd be me. One hairstyle ago. At least I think he meant me. How awkward for Marvin, his tete-a-tete revealed by a fifth-grader.

And that place hasn't called me yet, although they are checking my references, people tell me. Which you know means it is just a matter of time before they call me.

I’m Marvin, and I’m so not an alcoholic. Hi, Marvin.

So, we're gonna try to go to Greensboro tomorrow, right in the middle of me having more proofreading work than one person should ever have. I am back to wishing I were a spider, with eleven sets of eyes or however many they have.

I am sure my science friend Lisa will write in with really boring specific information on how many eyes spiders have. Don't make friends with science people. I mean, I met her when we were two, and no one warned me she'd turn into science person, or I wouldn't have let myself get attached.

In the meantime, then, I have a huge workday ahead of me, and who has played with Tallulah and emailed dcrmom until eleven in the morning, here? Nice.

And also? Marvin Gardensalad? Home on spring break. He is in the other room making pyramids out of beer cans and putting the cats in wet tshirts.

Actually, let me tell you about Marvin and his hard-partyin' ways. Marvin is not what you'd call a drinker. Like once a year he gets a drink, and it is usually something embarrassing like a cosmopolitan. Which only works for girls and that really snooty guy on Project Runway.

So, it being spring break, Marvin bought a six pack of some horrid bottled drink, like Mike's Hard Lemonade or something. Okay. First he tried to buy two bottles and the store wouldn't let him.

Anyway, that six-pack sat in our fridge for a week. Then last night? He cracked one open with dinner. Many hours later I saw him walking around with a half-empty bottle and I thought wow, he's hittin' the booze. But when I looked in the fridge? It was the SAME bottle from DINNER like four hours before!

Woo! He is Kid Rock, over there.

I couldn't think of any hard-partying person other than Kid Rock. Sad.

Anyway, he is under strict instructions to be quiet, because I am so busy emailing dcrmom, and so far he has managed to keep the TV blaring while he's UPSTAIRS playing his guitar.

This is why I didn't have kids.

So now I am going. Going to proofread about statistics. I wonder if there's any of that Mike's Hard Lemonade left over. Like the remaining five bottles won't be there next year.

Near. Far. Wherever you are. I know that I’ll save myself first.

Last night, Marvin Gardensalad and I watched a Titanic movie. Not the movie where Leonardo DiCaprio is heimliching Kate Winslett or measuring her waistline or whatever, but an old, black-and-white version of the Titanic.

Pretty much had the same plot.

Anyway, in the movie, they kept telling women and children to get on the boat first. And by the way, when did our culture decide that men are less important than women and children? Who made up THAT rule? I know I shouldn't argue it, as I come out the winner in this scenario, but if you look at it objectively, it is odd.

If it were up to me, I would have said put people in the boats in order of attractiveness or something. Which of course would not bode well for The Unsinkable Molly Brown. She was no looker. We'd all be calling her Mollie Brown Who Had to Drown or something.

At any rate, throughout the movie, they had scene after scene of women saying, "No! I won't leave my husband! We'll die together first!" and between you, me, and the 400 other people reading this, I kept thinking, "Dang. I would so be high-tailing it for a lifeboat." And yes, I think "dang" to myself.

Then I felt guilty that I was not one of these noble women who stuck by their man.

Hours later, we were going to bed, and the lights went out and all was quiet for a minute. Then Marvin said, "I want you to know. That if we had been on the Titanic? I'd have stepped on your head to get onto a boat."

Oh, I was so relieved he is as awful of a person as I am.

Do you like how in that story I had the lights going out as though we have hired a stagehand to turn them off for us?

I just got back from Charlotte and boy are my roots tired. I had to be there at 9:30, which means I had to leave Tiny Town at 4 a.m. or something. Okay, it was 7:50 when I left the house, but still. At any rate, my roots look good and don't even ask for a picture cause I am too tired to look for the camera. There is a nap in my future. I may even just fall off this chair and join Lula in her bed, right here.

But I did want to mention, my health? Remember how this blog was supposed to be a health blog? Well, guess what? My health SUCKS lately. I have been so busy with that book (which is GONE and in the hands of FedEx and I never, ever want to see it or The Chicago Manual of Style again) that I have not run. And today? On the way to Charlotte? Stopped at Bojangles for a ham biscuit. Then on the way home? Stopped at A&W for a coney dog.

Mmmm. Healthy. Guess I wouldn't be making it onto the lifeboat using my own system, would I?

So, despite the fact that The Nester and I are going to The Cheesecake Factory tomorrow, I am going to go back to attempting health all over again.

Cheesecake counts as dairy, right?

People seem to enjoy it when I complain about poor Marvin.

Yesterday, I decided that I needed to get new clothes for my new job.

Well, I didn't decide that yesterday. I have known I would need new clothes because (a) you could wear whatever you wanted to my old job in LA, and I do mean anything (I'd really like to go into detail about what people wore, but I do not wish to make anyone feel bad) (but you could pretty much wear your pajamas to that job) and (12) I spent all of 2007 not spending, and all of 2008 being poor, so my work wardrobe was not what you'd call fresh.

And before my last job in LA, I freelanced for four years. So if they had told me at this job "old sweat pants are good" I'd have been all set. I spent four years looking clinically depressed. Shower? Why?

My new job is business casual, and if there was ever a phrase to strike fear into the heart of a person.

It is as vague of a term as "cocktail attire." I never knew what that meant, either. Do I dress as a Heineken bottle?

So I decided to buy 14,000 pairs of black pants and many sweater sets.

I love me a sweater set. You can wear it as a set, you can wear just the short-sleeved portion, or you can wear just the cardigan part. But I suppose you knew all that.

(Can I just interject to say that Marvin is upstairs playing the guitar and singing "You're so Vain"? Why? Is it because I'm writing about clothes? He doesn't know that I'm down here writing about clothes. Is he in love with Warren Beatty all of a sudden? Is he thinking of joining Lillith Fair next year?)

(You're so VAIN? Seriously?)

Anyway. So, yesterday I told Marvin, "I am driving on out to MONroe, to go get some work clothes. How much can I spend?" To which he replied, "I'll go with you."

Remember how I said the term "business casual" gave me hives? You wanna know what's hivier? Marvin going shopping with me. You guys, he is SO not metrosexual. He is no Mark Consuelos. He couldn't care less what I am wearing, and he doesn't have a whole lot of fashion insight. In fact, everything Marvin ever likes? Is bright green and preferably argyle. You think I am making that up to be funny, but I am dead serious. He chooses outfits worn by Kermit the Frog and Archie from the Archie comics' baby.

When we shop together, all he does is walk an eighth of an inch behind me, picking out green clothes and looking bored. I KNOW all he wants me to do is select and go. Select and go. It's relaxing, is what it is.

So, I really didn't want him to go, but I didn't want him to feel bad, kind of like the badly dressed people at my old LA job. So I said okay and girded my loins.

Now, one thing about Marvin. He is never. ever. ready to go when he says he's gonna be. He said we could go at 3:45. At 3:45, he is doing something pressing. He has an audience with the Pope later and needs to prepare.

Trust me, there is always SOMETHING that is important that he has to do right then, so that you can NEVER go. "Just give me a minute," he always says, like you are the most demanding diva on earth that you want to leave for that tracheotomy on time.

Then? Every single time?  He heads to the door, and says, "Wait," and heads back into the house. Do you know how badly I want to put a hungry lion or an asp behind him so that he is forced to leave the house? The man is like a boomerang, trying to leave.

So, knowing all this, I went on New York & Company's website while he took notes for his meeting with Kruschev or whatever he was preparing for that made us miss that 3:45 deadline.

When I started my LA job a few years back, I got everything I needed right at New York & Company. Turns out? Last night they were having a big sale on career clothes. That's what they call them. Career clothes. Whatever.

I shopped that site and picked out everything I needed, and decided if I didn't see anything I liked in MONroe, I'd come back and buy that stuff.

Well, what do you think happened? There was NOTHing, NOTHing I liked in Monroe, except for a few sweaters at the Dress Barn, there.

Dress Barn is CUTE! When I lived in LA you could not have given me an evening with Jude Law to bribe me into going to Dress Barn. Well, okay, of course you could. I'd spend a day vomiting tarantulas to have an evening with Jude Law. But I am saying I have de-pretentioused a little since I moved to NC.

And for the record, Marvin did NOT shop with me. There was a Best Buy in the shopping center. Enough said. I guess he just wanted to kind of be there when I brought shopping bags to the car, to ensure I didn't come loaded with bags. I think he thought he served as a deterrent to me overspending.

Which I didn't. Cause I could not find anything except for at Dress Barn, which I already discussed. So, I came home and got back on that New York & Company site, and since they were having a sale, most of the things I wanted were already sold out.

I'll bet I think this song is about me. Don't I. Don't I.